


Hot Scotch

by BlanketFortAvenger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avenger Loki, Complete, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, Fluff, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, No Smut, Sleepiness, Sleepy Tony, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlanketFortAvenger/pseuds/BlanketFortAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's Hot Scotch:</p>
<p>3 cups of milk.<br/>4 tbs of honey.<br/>1 tsp of ground nutmeg.<br/>2 tsp of ground cinnamon.<br/>4 ounces of Tony's favourite scotch.</p>
<p>Coax Tony into kitchen. Heat milk gently over low flame and stir in remaining ingredients. Enjoy him while he's warm. Serves 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Scotch

Thirty-two hours without sleep and Tony’s mind is heavy. His limbs feel stiff and he stretches languidly, breathing deeply as he walks from his suite to the kitchen. He shivers as the cold air hits his damp skin. The shower had heated him briefly but the warmth had sank back into his stomach as the chilled night air washed over him; leaving his toes, the tip of his nose and the hair at the nape of his neck noticeably icy. The counter clock reads quarter past one in the morning. The seven-segment digital display illuminated in cobalt blue, swims through his tired dry-eyed sight. The penthouse is silent and dim, backlit only by the lights of the sleepless city far below. Tony frowns at the distant honeyed lighting spilling from his kitchenette and makes his way toward it apprehensively. Rounding the breakfast bar, a spectacle he had not expected sways into his line of sight – or rather he sways into it.

“You know you have your own kitchen downstairs.” Tony yawns, seating himself at the island to observe Loki as he hovers over the stove. He watches, lulled by the movement of the god’s wrist as he stirs something in a small saucepan. The same flowing-lagged grace of a koi moving through a pond, or the contented meandering tail of the cat watching it. Loki makes no move to turn but as if to answer him, he lifts a crystal decanter into view, pulling the stopper and adding a generous slosh of the amber liquid into the saucepan. “Oh come on, that’s the good stuff!” Tony sighs the last part half-heartedly.

“Precisely.” Loki hums and Tony just slumps forward onto his folded arms, too tired to protest.

“What are you making?” He murmurs.

“You’ll see.” Loki moves about the kitchenette like it is second nature and Tony just silently observes with a mild curiosity. The domesticity and calm of the situation settling his mind better than any scotch on the rocks could have done. Loki unearths a spice-rack from somewhere in the depths of his seldom used pantry. Placing it on the counter top beside Tony, he retrieves ground nutmeg and cinnamon. Tony doesn’t miss the way Loki casually allows him to see the labels. The god had not been with them long and understandably they were mostly trying to get used to his presence. Trust would come but first they needed familiarity. He adds just a shake or two of each and puts them aside. Next he looks through several cupboards clearly hunting for something in particular. When he cannot find it he turns to look at Tony briefly. Then thinking better of it turns back to the cupboards.

“Jarvis, does Tony have any honey?”

“Yes, Mr Laufeyson. You shall find it in the fridge.” The AI replies cordially.

“Peculiar.” Loki murmurs as he retrieves the jar. The ease with which the transaction takes place only serves to settle Tony further. Loki adds the honey to the saucepan and popping the syrup covered tablespoon into his mouth, resumes stirring the mixture. Whatever Loki has concocted smells amazing. It’s sweet with the hint of the spices. He’s dubious about the heated whiskey but Tony isn’t so hopeless that he can’t recognise and appreciate the wafting presence of cinnamon. It’s the scent of contentment and safety. Spices are strange like that. It is like humanity came readily evolved with a predilection for their heady aroma. They invoked emotions of comfort and reminiscing, regardless of whether one had any previous partiality for them. Finally Loki sets two thick porcelain mugs onto the counter and wrapping a clean dishtowel around the handle of the saucepan, gently and cleanly pours the creamy mixture into the mugs.

“Milk?” Tony inquires but he doesn’t really need to ask. He can see that indeed it is, leaning over the mugs with an innocent curiosity. Loki just hums an affirmative before taking a mug in hand. Tony follows suit, wrapping his chilled fingers around the pleasantly warmed china. Bringing the mug to his lips he blows at the steam rising in wisps from the foamy surface.

“Careful you do not burn your tongue Stark. It would be shame not to have your constant stream of consciousness running through our ears.” Loki quips and Tony scoffs with indignant humour.

“You’re one to talk. Silver-tongue was it? Which one of us do you think would suffer more from being silenced?” Tony truly only meant it as light-hearted banter but by the way Loki’s viridescent eyes went glassy and his lips pressed shut, he could tell he’d pressed a bruise. “Hey.” Tony stands up with his mug, rounding the counter to stand before Loki and the god’s vacant expression clears. “Sorry.” Tony offers, it’s genuine and followed by a sheepish smile. Loki shakes his head softly.

“It’s no matter. Just some very old scars that have yet to completely heal.” Loki returns his smile and there’s something almost fond about it. Tony breaks the look when it lingers just a little too long, instead looking down into his mug. Deeming it cool enough, he takes a tentative sip. Liquid comfort rolls onto his tongue. It’s the security of a well-worn hoodie and the coziness of freshly-fluffed pillows. All with the truly familiar relief of his favourite scotch. It was warmth and it welcomed the drowsiness into his mind like moths to a closet.

“This is wonderful.” Tony announces Looking at Loki with an all new reverence. The god laughs and it is deep and kind.

“You’re welcome.”

They lean against the counter together for a few more minutes as they finish their nightcaps. Tony’s mind is pleasantly fuzzy and for once, he simply cannot wait to crawl underneath the inviting comforters adorning his bed and slip into a sluggish and satisfying sleep. He barely registers Loki taking the empty mug from his hands to place it in the sink. Nor when the god slips a hand to the small of his back and begins guiding him to his bedroom. Once they reach his door, Tony regains some of his awareness. Just enough to turn and attempt to thank Loki properly - he doesn’t get the chance. Loki smiles and leaning forward, presses their lips to together in a fleeting but tender kiss. Tony finds himself swaying forward when Loki pulls away.

“Sweet dreams Tony.” Loki chuckles, turning and heading for the elevator to take him down to his floor. Sweet indeed. Tony found that he had a new favourite bedtime beverage – and it was decidedly sweeter than the spiced honey milk scotch.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this sweet little ficlet. I hold this this recipe in high regard as my 'good thing in small doses' - as for the fluff, I am undeniably an addict. Thanks for reading.


End file.
